


Smithereens

by tarthmsuoh



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarthmsuoh/pseuds/tarthmsuoh
Summary: Wilbur wants to nuke the festival, Tommy is in a rock and a hard place, and Technoblade’s lust for insurgence grows.The aftermath of Wilbur unhinging, and the plans that fabricate thereafter.As always, thank you @/cait_web34 (@/crunchcasual on tumblr!) for being my beta-reader :]
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	1. The Run-in

_Tommy, are we the bad guys?_

This question echoed for hours in Tommy’s head when he laid in bed that night. Twisting and turning, he couldn’t forget the ache in Wilbur’s voice, the way that the answer to it, an unapologetic _yes_ , was the only word his brain could repeat in that moment. But most importantly, he couldn’t forget the way his friend looked when he reached his antagonistic enlightenment soon after. The way his gums were bared in a maniacal grin, chuckling and sounding insane. Sounding like a man torn asunder with nothing left to fight for, sounding like Not Wilbur.

The squeaks of bats echoed throughout the ravine, Spots nickering and pawing the stone footing of his encasement in irritated restlessness.

_We can kill them_ all _, Tommy._

He sat up underneath his scratchy blanket, stomach twisting, and looked around this cold, dark bunk room. The only light source was a sad and slowly dimming lantern that sat in the opposite corner, on Wilbur’s side. Technoblade snored between the two of them, a loud partition that would wake up at the smallest pebble falling off the cobblestone staircase outside. Right outside their door, the Nether portal hummed loudly, a soothing lullaby.

But tonight, it was a disquieting roar of a whisper, and on his horizon Tommy only saw a sleepless night—like every other gloaming for the past week. Paying no attention to minimizing his bed’s creaking, Tommy stood up off of it, shivering as the cool atmosphere hit his bare chest, a sudden contrast to the thermal pocket his woolen covering had provided him.

Having gone to bed in his cargo pants, too physically irritated to change, he only picked his shirt off the featureless grey floor and slipped it back on. Tommy ran a shaky hand down his front, smoothing out any wrinkles, and put his boots on.

_...we could just run away from here…_

A fleeting emotion of freedom overtook him; he _could_ just run away, take Tubbo with him, tonight. Tonight could be the last time he’d have to stare up at the cave’s overhanging lanterns like a prisoner through bars. It could be the last time he’d have to sit himself down on the stone steps by Techno’s baking potatoes, heavy with boredom and all but sticking his hand in the golden licks of fire that crackled uncharitably.

As this thought resurfaced, it went away in an instant, replaced by a void of hopelessness and bitter nostalgia. Tommy felt tears, first pricking behind his eyes and then warm on his cheeks. Grabbing only some jacket potatoes stored in his bedside chest, he wiped away the wet streaks and promptly turned on his heel and headed towards the door situated by the now flickering lamp.

Before opening it, Tommy surveyed the room. Grey stone walls; depressing. The slow breathing of the once compassionate leader of Pogtopia; calming, lulling. The wide open eyes of Technoblade staring him down from his pillows—

Tommy jumped, his heart spiking. Techno only looked confused. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, stretching as he took a deep and gruff yawn.

“Where’re you headed?” he asked when he finished. Tommy shot an alarmed glance at the slumbering Wilbur, hoping Techno will pick up the hint. He did.

The pigman, clothed in a brown woolen sweater and his usual leggings, got up, his dulled hooves softly clomping against the floor.

His arms folded against that still-penetrating cold, Techno met Tommy at eye-level, an expectant deep brown meeting an anxious crystal blue.

Tommy mulled over his next words, speaking slowly as if the words were foreign to his tongue. “I think I should leave,” he mumbled under his breath.

Techno processed what his friend just said. “Wait. Why? Forever?” He hesitated to say this last word.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why, then?”

Tommy stared somewhat begrudgingly at Wilbur, anger in his eyebrows but a deep pain in his lustrous eyes. “I just can’t,” he whispered in a cracked voice thick with heartbreak. ”I can’t look at him without thinking about the shit he said. It’s driving me fucking mental, Techno.”

Techno followed his gaze. “Uh—” he brought his eyes back to the boy—“hm. I can’t say it’s not understandable.” Not knowing what else to say, he gives Tommy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Take care?”

“Thanks, big man.”

Techno nodded with a smile and partially sympathetic eyes, saw him out of the room, and got back in bed. As he stared at Wilbur’s slowly heaving back, he started to connect the dots. For one, no matter how much Techno was loved, or how much he enraptured others with his monotone charm and apathetic humor, one good look at the state of Wilbur, his closest ally, would turn even the magnanimous eyes of those with the highest morals away. Secondly, this in turn would pit _him_ and _Wilbur_ , and maybe even Dream, against the world. No more being put on a pedestal by default—this time, Techno would earn it, whether it be by bloodshed or not. And as much as his heart ached for good old Tommy, he couldn’t resist the temptation of nihilistic insurrection, the hunger for fighting to the top and spilling blood over third and second place.

For now, though, Technoblade only slept on this inkling of an idea. It would eventually expand to be much more complex than he had originally thought.

Tommy was already climbing the steps up to where they started; a box of dirt containing an orange bed and rows of chests. Here he opened the Ender chest, plum dust-like particles emanating from it, only took out his sheathed netherite sword for safety measures and adjusted it onto his belt.

He dug an entrance and stepped outside, promptly replacing the dirt behind him. And so, breathing in the crisp night air, Tommy stood with his arms wide open as if to welcome in the nocturnal sounds of the forest critters, wanting their freedom and their lack of human responsibilities. They didn’t fight any wars, they didn’t kill anyone for sport. Tommy wanted that life.

Alas, he couldn’t. He had to stay by Wilbur’s side for the sake of preserving what little remnants he had left of old L’Manbergian life. For the sake of _Wilbur_ , mostly. He really thought he could change him.

Grass rustling beneath his feet, Tommy made his way around the undead horse’s pit, its ghostly white bones pale and maybe even glistening in the bright moonlight, and through the forest. He walked far away, maybe for a couple minutes, maybe for an hour. All the same, he reached the sky-scraping Intimidation Tower he’d built only days before.

Tommy sat down by the nearby river, letting the susurrating water calm down his heightened state, his legs stretched out at the edge so that the stream rushed over his heels. Stomach rumbling, he took out a baked potato and nibbled at the cooked and peeling skin.

By the time he finished the potato, he felt the nape of his neck prickle, and knew he wasn’t alone. He had this sense before hearing the grass whisper under soft footsteps. He heard a sigh and saw dirty boots come into view from the corner of his eye.

He recognized the voice under the soft exhale. Tommy rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation. “What do you want, Dream?” he asked without looking up at him.

Dream ignored his question. “It’s awfully late.”

“So?”

“Go back to Pogtopia.”

Tommy stared up at Dream in disbelief. The older man was wearing his green mantle with the hood up, but his mask was in his hand. He was staring back down at him, emerald eyes contemplating.

“You’re fucking delusional, I’ll tell you that, big man,” Tommy tittered out bitterly as he stood up, wiping dirt off his bottom. “Also, what’s with the poncho? You don’t have to keep up your stupid enigma charade, especially not right now.”

Dream’s expression was as stoic as stone. “Even in the night, one like me must remain blended with the darkest shadows,” he explained, and said no more.

Tommy almost laughed at this absurd response. “I get it now,” he said with a taciturn grin. He turned his back onto Dream and started ambling downstream.

He followed Tommy, confused. “Get what.” It wasn’t a question, more of a ginger command for an answer.

“You’re just a pompous prick!” he almost shouted with revelation.

“What?”

Tommy unhesitatingly turned on his heel, stopping himself in his tracks. He looked at Dream with an exasperated expression. “You just…” He frantically tried to form his words with his hands. “You just say shit. You say shit that doesn’t make sense but still somehow allows you to play God.”

Dream was nailed to the spot. Tommy could almost hear those stupid gears turning in his head.

Then, with a tooth-achingly kind smile, the hooded man tilted his head and sighed. “You know, I must say. Wilbur was right.” Tommy raised his hackles.

“Watch it.”

Dream kept pushing. “You can’t be a leader, ever.”

“He didn’t say that.” Despite this, Tommy got his hand ready on his sword’s hilt. Dream’s eyes flashed towards the boy’s flexing fingers.

“Paraphrasing. Wilbur and I, we know how to lead, how to be in charge.” He took a few steps toward Tommy, who immediately tightened his grip on his sword and unsheathed it, adjusting his footing for more balance. “You don’t, sadly. You don’t know how to get yourself leverage with your words. Wilbur and I _do_.”

Tommy felt tears prick the back of his eyes again, but this time they stayed there. He couldn’t show weakness, especially not now.

“But Wilbur still needs your help,” he continued. “Always has, just now more than ever.”

“My help? My help with what? Nuking the fucking festival?”

Dream eyebrows momentarily furrowed in hurt, and Tommy was truly taken aback at his display of emotion. He lowered his guard, sheathing his sword. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Tommy.”

“It’s really not.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Tommy turned his back once more and continued walking downriver. “You’re saying that just because I’m the youngest person in the SMP.”

Dream started following him again. “No, I’m saying that because you have almost no leadership experience.”

“First off, those two go hand in hand by default. Second, that is bullshit!” He stopped and exhaled a long and tired sigh. “When I turn around, I want you gone, Dream. I came out for a fucking break, you green bastard.”

He waited for a few seconds, and looked behind him. Dream was still standing there, just a few feet away. What Tommy saw was a genuinely wounded expression.

Wordlessly, Dream slipped his mask on, and turned on his heel. He started walking away, only for a few seconds, before he dematerialized in front of Tommy’s eyes. It took him a few seconds, but he spotted the hooded figure atop a distant hill, an ominous shadow against the night’s sky.

He disappeared behind the trees.


	2. A Supplication of Munition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! Had some terrible writer’s block and also started a oneshot and an AU I’ll write after finishing my current projects. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Tommy’s eyes stayed stuck to the sky as he continued walking, disgusted at himself for feeling guilty of hurting Dream’s feelings. His heart heavy with stress, he saw the skyline of what was now Manberg. He sighed dejectedly and kept walking, hand barely hovering over the hilt of his sword. He thought about how he should have brought a shield.

Making it into Manberg and to Tubbo’s base was not difficult. It was as quiet as footsteps in snow, yet Tommy still checked behind him, expecting either an arrow in his spine or an axe to his ribs. He was wary of spotting any short and horned figures in the shadows.

Searching for any possible onlookers, Tommy took a deep and steadying breath as he reached the water. He jumped in, and not even a second passed before he stumbled for balance on a wooden floor, looking onto a never ending and descending hallway. Glancing above him, he studied the strangely suspended water shimmering in the moonlight and shivered from the cooler wind hitting his drenched skin.

Then he started walking.

It took a couple minutes, his legs beginning to ache from the strain and his exhaustion, before Tommy turned left into his friend’s base. It was dark, and he could barely hear Tubbo’s steady breaths over the ringing of his own ears.

Climbing up the stairs carefully, his eyes adjusted to the unlit room. He spotted Tubbo, tucked into his bed and his chest rising and falling with every soft snore. Tommy studied his friend’s sleeping figure for a second more before shaking them awake.

“Wh—“ Tubbo quickly sat up, hair a mess and eyes barely open as they smacked Tommy’s hand away. “Jesus Christ, man!”

Tommy aggressively shushed him, spittle flying, and Tubbo wiped his cheek. He sat down by his friend’s bed, back against the wall and eyes pointing at the ceiling. His head was foggy and he didn’t say anything for a while. Tubbo sat in silence, confused but willing to provide Tommy the company he needed.

Then Tommy spoke.

“Don’t go through with the speech, Tubbo.” He didn’t know how else to put it, and stared up at their wide gaze. Tubbo could only see sorrow behind those piercingly blue eyes.

They shook their head. “I have to, Tommy.”

“For who? For Schlatt?”

Tubbo nodded, abashed. Tommy chuckled.

“You’re just gonna die. Poof,” Tommy added, opening the palms of his hands to imitate an explosion. Tubbo flinched.

“I don’t know…” Tubbo hugged his knees, chin resting on them. “I don’t think Wilbur would actually go that far.”

“You weren’t there, Tubbo.” Tommy looked up again, expression a warning and premature grief. “Wilbur has actually gone crazy. He’ll nuke it all, man. I don’t know how to help him.” He felt his voice waver near the end.

“We still have about a week until the festivities. I think you’ll have time.” Tubbo then added, “If you’re right about him.”

“Well, I am. So.”

Tommy felt his friend’s hand comfortingly grip his shoulder. He smiled to himself and tried his best to engrave this moment in his brain.

When Tommy’s clothes dried a while later, Tubbo’s hand was still there. When his eyelids repeatedly shut from his uncontrollable exhaustion, Tubbo’s hand was still there. But Tommy forced himself to stay awake, at least until Tubbo fell back asleep. He felt as if sleeping before that would count as abandoning Tubbo in some sort of strange way.

Tubbo eventually did fall back into a seemingly peaceful slumber, their hand slipping from his shoulder as they slid back down on the bed, head delving ever deeper into their pillow. This was when Tommy finally closed his eyes for the final time.

He didn’t go back to Pogtopia that night.

***

In the wake of dawn, Technoblade was rising once more, wondering whether the conversation that transpired last night was a dream or reality. Looking at Tommy’s empty bed pointed at the fact that it actually happened, but he still felt as if more confirmation was needed. He stood up, stretched for a good while, and hummed in contentment as he looked over at Wilbur, sound asleep and tightly hugging his pillow.

“Oh, Wilbur,” he murmured, smiling to himself. About what, he wasn’t too sure.

Before heading out, Techno only put on boots and his coronet, adjusting it perfectly as he always did, and loudly cracked his knuckles. He slammed the door behind him on his way out after he had hauled his haversack over his shoulders and fastened the sternum strap around his chest. He didn’t wait to hear if he woke Wilbur up, and made his way up and out of Pogtopia. He didn’t care, in all honesty.

Before making his way out of the base, Techno noticed fresher dirt, soil softer instead of its usual packed state. He huffed in thought and nodded, his mind immediately jumping to Tommy, an emotionally confused baggage of a boy craving a rest.

_He never came back_ , Technoblade observed, and paid this no more attention, covering the entrance once more and making his way through the trees.

Eventually he broke through the forest of green, sunlight hitting his face in a warm ray and he felt at peace, water shimmering below him as he made his way past and through the hilling banks. Chickens clucked from a distance and the bleating of sheep grew louder as he neared a waking herd. He made eye contact with the shimmering eyes of a young lamb and smiled to himself as he walked past.

Wading through the water, Techno reached the shade of a tree and looked around for the disturbance of a whirling and bubbling spot. Once he spotted it, he looked up and jumped in, enjoying the way the pockets of air that wrapped around and hugged his person swam along before attaching to him. He breathed in deeply, watching as these bubbles kept coming and replacing each other.

_No, no, no_ , he thought to himself as he quickly stepped off the crawling block of magma that twisted beneath him like a coiling snake.

Techno got out and patted down his clothes—only a spot or two of his sweater were drenched.

“That’s no good,” he muttered to himself before switching it out for his usual everyday wear, his crown and haversack temporarily abandoned on the floor.

Fastening the last button of his shirt, Techno slipped on a sheath-donned belt, sword already in place and a filled quiver slung on his shoulder. He only opened one more chest to find his bow before grabbing his crown off the floor and mantle off his bookcases and heading to his bubbling exit. The water roared, and he paused a second to take it all in. Breathing in, he listened to the echoes of his enchantment room, and as he exhaled through a snort he relaxed his muscles.

Leaving his haversack behind, he stepped into the second wall of water and kicked himself off the soulsand. He shot up to the surface in mere seconds. Techno landed on his feet, almost falling face first into the cold water before balancing himself and sitting back on the nearby patch of land.

He exhaled, almost a sigh of relief, and looked around. The breeze barely there, it threw ripples in the water and swayed the grass. Clouds lumbered overhead, unsure and uneven. Then, as lazily as ever, he felt around his belt, grinning at the empty bundled pouches that ringed around his waist. Then surprise took him over as he felt the sturdier and smaller pouch that was situated right near his sheath. Delving his fingers in, Techno delicately pulled a device out of it, as large as his palm.

He remembered; upon involving himself with the SMP, Dream had gifted him a foreign telecommunication device, so alien in the present time, in which he saw public conversations between others, and even Whispers—private messages—from people who so wanted to befriend him. Rarely did he ever answer those.

Technoblade placed this device back in its safe pouch. He had never seen a use for it, letting it collect dust as it sat, obsolete in his eyes. But, seeing the current circumstances...

Techno stood up. He adjusted his crown once more on his head. Then, bow in hand and mantle loosely hugging his arms, he nonchalantly strutted off in the direction of L’manberg.

_Manberg_ , Techno corrected himself, shaking his head to clear it. He couldn’t find himself siding with anyone. One little slip-up could snowball into a problematic feeling of sentiment that places him in a rock and a hard place.

And so, his reminder fresh in his brain, he kept his gaze on the tall horizon of buildings that he only viewed as trophies. Not trophies that he would soon claim, but instead trophies that showed the temporary and fallacious title of superiority of the city’s inhabitants.

A toothy grin found its place on Technoblade’s face, tusks outstretching the tips of his mouth and just barely poking his cheeks. It stayed there until he reached the outskirts of Manberg some time later after what felt like ages of untangling himself through the thick forests near the city. It faltered, just like his confidence.

He felt out of place, looking up at the structures. He couldn’t pinpoint why, and just needed to look away.

Just as he did so, he pulled out his communicator, typing in a Whisper:

/msg awesamedude got any gunpowder?

An obnoxious error message flashed right after:

**No targets matched selector.**

Techno groaned in irritation, and read back on his message. He noticed that he misspelled Sam’s communication username. He hadn’t bothered to select an automated option. He shoved the device back into his pouch with anger, remembering now other reasons he never used it.

_Can’t even send it to the next best username. Frickin’ useless piece of garbage._

He walked around, searching for anyone who could tell him where Sam was. As he kept walking, he found himself by a tall tower, smiling as he thought of Tommy but immediately wiping the grin away.

Techno spotted movement by the stage, right ahead of him. He breathed in the salty air of the nearby sea by the dock before moving. When he reached the stage area, he saw Fundy and Tubbo, working together on decorating the barren landscape of the seating area and the festivities.

“Hallo!” Techno greeted the two, who were setting up sun shading umbrellas by the lake.

Tubbo tensed for an instant out of surprise, but immediately loosened up before turning around along with Fundy, who was still gripping an umbrella’s pole.

“Techno!” he exclaimed, looking up.

“Hey, man.” Fundy gave him a little wave. Techno returned it.

“Any of you guys seen Sam around?” he asked when they finished exchanging their pleasantries, some hellos and a _how are you?_ thrown into the mix.

Fundy shook his head, ears twitching in the wind, but Tubbo looked deep in thought, thumb rubbing his chin.

“Last I heard he was in the…” Tubbo snapped his fingers to recollect his memory. “...he was at the community area?”

Techno stood there awkwardly. He didn’t know where that was but was too anxious to ask. Tubbo understood, nodding.

They turned to Fundy. “Uh, Fundy, just finish up the carpeting of the fighting ring—” Techno’s ears perked—“and I’ll be right back.”

Fundy nodded, and as Tubbo led Techno toward the hill situated behind the stage, they both observed as he opened a chest but didn’t stay to watch.

Neither of them paid attention to the scenery. The air between them was thick, an awkward tension waiting for conversation.

“So…” Tubbo started. They glued their eyes to the floor, supposedly at a loss.

“Hm.” Techno gestured for them to continue.

“What brings you to Manberg?”

“Sam.”

Tubbo waited for more, but nothing came of it. He nodded, and said, “Alright.” He decided to prompt Techno. “What do you need him for?”

Technoblade thought. _Should I?_

“You know, Tubbo, it isn’t courteous to delve one’s nose in others’ businesses,” was what he said instead.

“I’m just curious, is all!”

Techno tried to read through it all, see between the lines, but only found casual and airy interest. _Oh_ , he thought to himself, and smiled, furrowing his brow in contemplation.

“I just needed some gunpowder—” he patted the pouches that hung off his belt—“and maybe a few other things.”

When Techno saw the brunet’s eyes widen, he thought he saw some shock, maybe a bit of horror. Their mouth opened ever so slightly and he could see the sliver of white that was their teeth. His stomach churned, did he share too much? He pondered some more.

“Did Tommy come to Manberg last night?” Technoblade asked.

Tubbo reached behind his back to scratch his shoulder. “Um,” he hummed in thought, “yeah.”

Techno nodded, but said no more. _Tubbo knows._

Walking down the Prime Path in the wake of this realization, he repeatedly squeezed the hilt of his sheathed sword in agitation, desperately steadying his slowly accelerating heartbeat with each deep breath. The exhales came out in snorts, and captured Tubbo’s attention.

They looked up, catching Techno’s ears flicking more than usual and his steps becoming smaller. They were easily overtaken, and had to lightly jog to catch up then slow down to a fast walking pace.

“Please slow down,” Tubbo implored, steps growing more and more uneven. It was getting irritating.

Luckily, Techno listened and, with a last huff, started walking normally again. He spent the rest of the time from here to the community area thinking, contemplating, gathering his thoughts together again.

His heartbeat slowed but he could still feel it softly thumping against his throat by the time the two of them entered the brick building, floor creaking beneath their feet and the only distinct feature being the staircase smack in the middle of the room.

“There!” Tubbo suddenly exclaimed, pointing. Techno followed their finger and looked out of the window, where he saw Sam walking up the steps to the Nether portal. His golden circlet glinting in the late morning sunshine, spaulders even brighter, he turned towards them, caught by surprise by Tubbo’s shout. A green mask resembling the face of a creeper covered his face.

“Is he like Dream or something?” Techno muttered to Tubbo upon noticing Sam’s anonymizing mask. The shorter boy laughed, but the pigman didn’t join in. His question was serious.

The green-haired man was at the door already, letting himself in but not closing it behind him. He seemingly towered over Tubbo, greeted the two of them with a hello, a wide smile evident in his voice. Techno’s heart ached strangely.

“Hallo,” was all he said back, and Tubbo waved. “I was wonderin’ whether you had some supply of gunpowder?”

Sam opened his arms in a warm gesture. “Why, of course! How much do you need?”

Techno noticed Tubbo tense, and sensed a small inkling of fear. He stared down at him. “Quite a bit,” he confessed, patting the pouches that were strung to his belt. He was still staring, and so Tubbo looked away, looked away at Sam. He couldn’t read the expression on his face, it was hidden away, and he felt trapped under Techno’s gaze and Sam’s mask. _Is Tommy right?_ he thought to himself, stomach doing backflips.

“Well, if you’ll just come with me, I can take you to my base. I’ve got a _ton_ of stuff.” Sam ruffled up Tubbo’s hair. “Thanks for bringing him, I’ll take it from here. Go finish up the festival decorations.” The brunet’s worries were momentarily forgotten, feeling warm and fuzzy only for a couple seconds, before meeting Techno’s brown beady eyes with his own again. He nodded.

_This guy is just the embodiment of a freakin’ smile_ , Techno thought, worriedly glancing at Sam as his mind flashed back to the lamb he saw just an hour ago.

He followed him out of the community house, stopping at the doorway as the taller man made his way to the portal. Turning his head back, he met eyes with Tubbo one last time, whose hands were clenched by their sides now.

Techno rested his hand on the brick entrance, running his thumb over the rough surface.

“Hey…” he murmured, feigning hesitance. His voice was as monotone and bored as ever.

“What,” Tubbo said instead of asking.

“Do you know what happens to, uh, people—or dare I even say prey—when they get too loud? In a land full of stronger predators?”

Tubbo shook their head, nape crawling.

Still ever so monotone, he answered the question for them. “They get hunted down is what happens, Tubbo. The predators find them and fall on them like a freakin’ thunderstorm, Tubbo. It’s best to stay quiet sometimes.”

Technoblade carried on after Sam, slamming the door behind him. It shook in its frame.

Tubbo stood there for what felt like hours. They just stared at the door, thinking of nothing yet everything rushing through their head with supersonic speed. Then, apathy taking them over like a weighty blanket, they walked back to where they came from with heavy feet, feeling their blood drain from their usually rosy cheeks.


End file.
